


Ribbons

by ArchangelUnmei



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Cold War, Crossdressing, F/M, Gen, M/M, Psychological Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-02
Updated: 2010-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-11 10:03:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchangelUnmei/pseuds/ArchangelUnmei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poland stole one of her dresses once, when they were all the USSR. Russia beat him for it when he found out, but Poland didn't care. He thought maybe if he dressed like her, Liet would finally love him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ribbons

All his life, Poland has only wanted one thing.

Well, two.

But besides the pony-

Okay, fine, three.

But besides the pony and his desire for his people to always be free, he's only wanted one thing.

Lithuania.

But not just his body. Poland can remember when they were young, when they were free and ignorant of how the world and their roles in it really worked. When it was easy for them to sneak away and spend a sunny afternoon in the garden, full of shy kisses and touches and sweet smiles.

Lithuania doesn't smile much anymore, not like he used to.

Because all those sunny afternoons were ripped away, torn apart with their commonwealth. Poland can remember cold, and darkness, and seeing snow stained with blood as Prussia pulled him one way and Russia tore at his other side, and he remembers watching Austria standing back and holding Lithuania, not getting bloody himself but waiting calmly for his piece once the dogs were done.

After that, Poland didn't see Lithuania for a long time, but Poland never forgot. He never forgot their afternoons together, he never forgot what it felt like when Liet kissed him, that sudden burst of joy so strong he thought his heart might burst. It was what kept him going some nights when he was so cold, remembering the warmth of Liet holding him tight. Poland never forgot.

But apparently, Lithuania did.

The next time Poland saw him, he almost didn't recognize his Liet. He'd cut his hair, and he was wearing a military uniform. A Russian one. And he was laughing, standing with two other Nations that Poland only vaguely knew. And he looked happy.

Happy.

Poland knew he couldn't be _really_ happy, of course. He knew Lithuania better than anyone. He saw the trembles in Liet's hands whenever Russia stepped too close or even looked at Liet for too long. He watched the way the other two hid behind Liet like cowards, letting him take the brunt of whatever mood Russia was in that day.

Finally, Poland could take it no longer.

He cornered Lithuania after a meeting, his heart sinking when he saw the way his dear Liet tried to avoid him. Poland finally just took him by the shoulders and shook him, sending the papers he was holding scattering to the floor. Lithuania tried to drop to his knees and gather them up, but Poland tightened his fingers and wouldn't let him.

What happened, Poland asked, his voice probably louder than it should have been in the echoing hallway, and the way Lithuania cringed and tried to shush him only made him angrier. We used to be so close, Liet. What happened to you? We were strong, you were strong, why do you let him push you around?

And Lithuania had gotten a dreamy look in his eyes, the way Hungary looked what she talked about Austria sometimes, and Poland suddenly felt like he'd been thrown out into the wilds of Siberia again.

"Belarus."

And Poland had let him go then, let him gather up his papers and go back to Russia, to _her_, the Nation, the woman that Poland had barely even cared about before that day. He couldn't even bring himself to hate her, he didn't know her that well. He wasn't even sure which of Russia's sisters she was. Instead, he found himself almost, _almost_ hating Liet, hating him for forgetting as hot, angry tears spilled down his cheeks.

He'd been left behind again.

He almost walked away, then. Almost made himself forget about Liet, to wall off that part of his heart and concentrate instead on his people, his economy, the more _important_ things. But in his dreams at night Poland still dreamed about sunshine and sweet kisses, and he woke up crying out for someone who was never there.

And then the Iron Curtain fell.

And all of a sudden, all at once he was there, thrown into that house, with _them_, all of them, their stupid happy little family that wasn't happy at all. They only pretended, and they were all lying to themselves and lying to Russia and Poland fucking _hated_ it. He hated having to pass Lithuania in the halls every day, pretending he didn't still love him. He hated watching Lithuania laughing with Estonia and whatever his name was, the shrimpy one, and he hated how alone it made him feel. Estonia barely said two words a year to Poland, and, well, the little one trembled and hid behind Liet whenever Poland so much as looked at him.

Poland hated that Liet didn't seem to care, didn't seem to remember at _all_, seemed to _prefer_ the company of those two losers over Poland's. Whenever they managed to be alone together, whenever Poland tried to speak to him, Lithuania would make some excuse to escape, or say that Russia wouldn't like them speaking. Poland wanted to scream at him that they were in the same fucking _house_, Russia couldn't expect them to avoid each other _all_ the time, but Lithuania would just smile that horrible, nervous smile of his and duck his head and brush past Poland to leave.

Poland felt like he was drowning there, with no shore in sight.

Most of all, he _hated_ being in the same house as Belarus, hated watching Lithuania make doe eyes at her and wax poetic over her beautiful hair and elegant style. Poland felt like Liet was stabbing him in the back, like their hundreds of years together meant nothing in the face of a pretty dress and a little lace and fur.

Well, if that was what Liet wanted, Poland could give him that too.

One night, when most of them were away at a conference that Poland wasn't allowed to attend (by Russia's orders, of course), Poland snuck into her room and stole a dress.

When they returned from the conference, they found Poland sitting demurely on the couch, deep blue dress and ruffled petticoats smoothed down neatly over trim stockings (but no shoes, Belarus's hadn't fit him, dammit) and his hands folded primly on his knees, hair tied back with one of her ribbons, the lace at his throat pristine.

Belarus shrieked (_Brother, brother, he's wearing my **dress**!_), and Ukraine gasped (_Oh Feliks..._ with so much pity in her voice), and Estonia snickered but quickly hid it (a sexual slur, but Poland didn't care).

And Russia dragged him down to the basement where East Germany sat silent in the corner, and he tied Poland down so he couldn't struggle while he lovingly took the dress off of him to return to his sister, though he left the ribbon in Poland's hair. And then he beat Poland until the smaller Nation was coughing blood and he was sure Warsaw must be in flames again, but he didn't care.

He couldn't care.

Tears burned on his cheeks, and he let Russia think they were tears of pain and shame, but they weren't. Not physical pain, anyway. Lithuania had looked... shocked. And then angry, just a quick flash through his eyes, quick enough that probably only Poland saw it. And then faintly sick, like he couldn't stand to see his beloved Belarus's clothes misused in such a way.

So Poland cried, sobbing out his pain and the last of his hope on a cold stone floor in Russia's basement, long after Russia had gone. He wondered if he'd ever had a chance at all.

Eventually, he was freed, of course. He escaped the basement, and took East Germany with him out of pity, and together they managed to leap the Berlin Wall the moment it fell. He was free with his people again, able to walk the streets of Warsaw and concentrate on what was really important. He kept Belarus's ribbon with him, the one he'd stolen, a reminder of what he fought for, and what he fought against.

Occasionally, if he knew he was going to run into Lithuania somewhere, he wore a skirt. Just because he could. Because somewhere deep inside, he couldn't help but hope that maybe if the skirt was what Liet wanted, someday he'd look at Poland again the way he used to, with that light in his eyes.

Because, after all, Poland had been around for hundreds of years. He was strong. He knew it. Belarus couldn't last forever.

And Poland still dreamed of sunshine and smiles, and kisses as sweet as summer in Vilnius.

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:**
> 
> Okay, let's see if I can take these in some sort of coherent order.
> 
> This was written to indulge a bit of my own psychological headcanon, which is that Poland crossdresses out of a subconscious desire to be more like Belarus so he can win Lithuania's love. I'm also working on an illustration to go with it, which I'll link here when it's finished.
> 
> LietPol is definitely one of my Hetalia OTPs, but if you actually look at the canon there's very little evidence for it. Poland clings onto Liet, and he seems to resent it quite a bit. There's also his canon crush on Belarus, and his relationships with both America and Russia. He doesn't seem to really care for Poland much at all. Poor Poland, he never gets a break.
> 
> The Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth lasted for about two hundred years before it fell. Lithuania was kept relatively intact, but Poland was subjugated and the land divided between Austria, Prussia and Russia. Later, Poland was divided again, between Prussia and Russia, further reducing his land and scattering his people.
> 
> _Warsaw must be in flames again_ \- Warsaw is the capitol of Poland, and most of it was bombed out during WWII.
> 
> Vilnius is the capital of Lithuania, and for awhile was also the capital of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth.


End file.
